The Piano
by dillian
Summary: Someone was playing the piano inside the music room. The Italian girl was curious. “Who could it be?” one shot fic


Disclaimer: I don't own Sakura Wars and the song Furui Piano... but Nikita is mine, XP

A/N: The story was written in a flashback basis. The past events happened in italicized form so don't be confused. The cutesy and disturbing moments between 'him' and 'her' are my entire fault, so if there is something not in character, spank me. XD This is not a shoujo ai fic more likely it's the opposite.

Title: The Piano

Genre: Angst/Romance

Story by: Dillian

Edited by: Liz

x x x x x x x x x x

_As I play this old piano, there's a color of something long ago_

_I can, oh, feel the sadness as the keys play a note off-pitch_

_Even my memories are rusty, and in this forgotten deserted house_

_I want to know what kind of footprints are here_

x x x x x x x x x x

Her hands gently touched the piano keys. After a while, she found herself playing the said instrument. To her, this was the rhythm of long ago. This was the sound of her past. This was the echo of her painful childhood.

This was the sound she wanted to forget. . . but couldn't.

Her green eyes glimmered.

_It was winter. She was walking with this man who had taken her under his wing when her father died. They were walking towards a poorly maintained tavern where some of his fellow soldiers usually went to. Recently, those fellow soldiers included her as well. She smiled; the sound of their bickering was constant, as if they expected each argument to be their last._

"_Captain Yuri, it's nice to see you back," a man in a brown mink coat said as he approached the captain. He had some resemblance to Yuri, except that the Captain was taller than him. She remembered Yuri calling him Nikita, his right hand man._

_Things had changed, though, as it had become obvious that she was now much closer to Yuri than Nikita was. It was no contest. _

_At first, she was not really sure whether or not to trust him, but he was certainly charismatic. Even his comrades liked Yuri whole-heartedly. _

"_Hey, Yuri, why not play for us?" a stout, auburn-haired man called. He was sitting near the tavern's old piano, waving his bottle of vodka._

_Yuri hesitated, but due to the constant cheering of his companions, he finally gave in. She noticed that half of the men in the tavern were drunk, but she could see the sadness in their eyes... the kind of sadness that she herself was familiar with. They could find solace only in a place like this, where it was somehow possible to forget their worries in life._

_Only his music could soothe their aching hearts. Including hers._

_Yuri sat on the piano chair and played._

Why was she always backtracking? Couldn't she just move on?

Her fingers were becoming restless. She remembered how the piano became her second favorite instrument next to the balalaika. Her father taught her how to play that Russian guitar. It reminded her of him just as the piano reminded her of Yuri.

_BANG_

_Yuri shot a can from a distance. The green-eyed girl looked solemnly at him after what he did._

"_Now you try it." He smiled at her. She hesitated._

"_Not unless you teach me," she said almost in whisper but he somehow heard it._

"_I've already shown you how." _

"_What I mean is . . . "She was silent for a while, feeling embarrassed to even ask it. _

"_What?" Yuri said in a soothing voice._

"_Uh. . ."_

_Yuri waited, one eyebrow raised._

"_I want you to . . .," her face was a furious shade of red, ". . . to teach me to play the piano." _

_The young captain's lips curled upwards in a half-smile as he pinched Maria's cheek. "So that's what I get for being so patient with you." Yuri chuckled. _

_The laughter was very pleasant to her ears._

"_Will that help you?" Yuri asked._

_She responded with eager green eyes._

She smiled.

But why was she here in the music room?

She just felt that she needed to be here.

Did it help her?

Maybe she didn't want to forget. Or, maybe she just couldn't forget.

Her blond hair almost covered her entire face as she bowed her head and continued playing.

_She sat beside him facing the piano. Yuri was not a born musician, nor was he planning to be one. He was better known for his skills with the gun._

_He played the first notes and she closely studied how his fingers fell into place to produce such consoling melodies. She liked the way he instructed her; patiently, step by step. _

_She especially liked the way they kept getting so close. _

_The blond girl couldn't forget how those warm hands touched hers. She didn't know what to feel when it happened. Oftentimes, she would fall asleep on his shoulder, constantly dreaming about the future . . . with him. . . making their own music together. If only that could happen._

"Beautiful," an accented voice enthused.

She stopped. She didn't expect an audience.

Startled, the green-eyed woman turned her attention to the figure standing by the door. "Who-"

"It's kinda sad. I still think it's a good piece, though. Is it Bach or Beethoven?" The Italian's voice was straight and unfaltering. A smile flickered on her olive-skinned face.

"Orihime." The blond woman stood.

"Eh, Maria-san, why did you stop? Do continue," the Italian girl insisted.

Maria looked at the piano, then to Orihime. "I was just testing it."

"It's the new piano, isn't it?" Orihime remarked. "I'm amazed. I didn't know that you have a talent similar to mine."

Maria looked at her. "Thank you, Orihime." After a long moment of silence, the Russian bowed down at her and turned to leave.

"Uh, Maria-san, wait," Orihime called.

"What is it?" Maria turned her head slightly so Orihime could only see the profile of her face.

"Will you teach me that piece?"

Without looking back to Orihime, the Russian nodded with a weak smile.

x x x x x x x x x x

_Mm, in the past, fame covered my eyes, and who uncovered it?_

_That person and this person_

_Back then, there was a young ringing sound_

_Mm, as I play this old piano, there's a color of something long ago_

_When this old piano was thrown away, it gave a young sound of long ago_

_It was a weary defeated sound, but, oh, I could hear the passion_

x x x x x x x x x x

END

x x x x x x x x x x


End file.
